


Just Trying to Get My Head on Straight

by ACaseOfUnstableEmpathy



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Manes deserves the world, Angst, Beagle, Child Abuse, Flashbacks, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Michael's a good boyfriend, No Timeline, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Someone hug Alex and Michael, War flashbacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 08:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21194351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACaseOfUnstableEmpathy/pseuds/ACaseOfUnstableEmpathy
Summary: Michael’s forehead rests against his own and simultaneously, their eyes close. “Breathe with me,” Michael whispers. Focusing on the rhythm of inhales, he obeys; a comfortable pace is set and Alex finds his thoughts slowing in suit. The outside world is forgotten; all that matters now is their own space; this space Alex Manes shares with this extraterrestrial. It’s safe and it’s home. A battlefield doesn’t exist. There’s no gun in his hands and he’s not in the sands of Iraq, fighting a seemingly endless war.





	Just Trying to Get My Head on Straight

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all. I actually wrote this way back in July (2019) and it took me a month and 2 days to finish this (whoops). I wanted to write something about Michael helping Alex through his panic attacks...so this work came to light. 
> 
> I also thought it'd be cute if Alex named his Beagle, Beta like from the Military Alphabet. However, I am more than happy with the official name, Buffy (funny how both names start with a "B"). 
> 
> Finally, I had no beta for this work so I apologize for any errors. 
> 
> The title is from Push by Fog Lake. 
> 
> Music Listened To While Writing This:  
-Push by Fog Lake  
-Early Grave by The Contortionist  
-Outlaws of Love by Adam Lambert

The gentle rattle from the air conditioning is the only noise that prevents silence from completely settling. If you listen closely, the occasional faint echo of gunshots can be heard in the far distance from a shooting range. His cabin is empty, aside from him. Beta, his four-legged companion is outside enjoying the last bits of sunlight on the porch. A breath floods from the Captain’s lungs as he reaches for the open bottle of beer. The bubbles dance off his tongue as he swallows with the aftertaste lingering. Michael will be back soon and the very thought seems to kick-start his anticipation.

A long-forgotten book rests beside him, balancing on the arm of his chair. Tipping the bottle back, he finishes it and as he’s tempted to grab another from the fridge. He still has that six-pack Michael gifted him as a clumsy form of apology for being late to dinner one evening. He pushes the itch for more aside, placing the empty bottle on the table beside him. The only source of lighting is from the lamp on the coffee table and it gives off an eerie glow of a dying bulb.

Clean dishes are drying in the kitchen sink, neatly leaning against each other. Every now and then, the faucet drips with a single drop of water silently hitting inside the basin. The orange sunlight filters in through the red shades that cover the windows to provide a sense of added privacy. Dusk settled in quickly, sweeping over the land and shrouding the landscape in darkness. However this evening, his mind is anything but silent; it’s full of the rattling bangs belonging to heavy gunfire and the overwhelming brutal temperatures of the Middle East. Memories, that he thought he’d locked away and thrown away the key.

* * *

_Sweat dripped from his brow. Iran’s heat was brutal torture. The cameo-print uniform miserably lacked any ventilation. His gun was a heavyweight across his chest and the supplies he carried in his backpack was something he wished to drop to lighten his load ( his Drill Sergeant would have had his neck if he did such a thing ). _

_ “Let’s go, Airman Manes!”_

_ The voice startled him and he found himself looking up from his neatly tied boots. The shadow of the building loomed over him and the rest of his team that’s squished against the wall of the structure. “Go!” A shove, originating from his commanding officer succeeded in starting him forward. He stumbled, catching himself easily as he broke into a run._

_ Enemy soldiers fired from the tops of abandoned buildings, with bullets scattering and striking the earth that he ran on. One whizzed past him, lightly grazing his cheek. His eyes were locked on Matthew Payne as the Airman First Class returned fire towards the hostiles, providing cover. Slipping into the open entranceway, Alex braced himself against the far wall with his chest heaving. Friendly soldiers were stationed at the windows of the building he’s in, shouting at the rest of their team to hurry the fuck up._

_His heartbeat was rapid underneath the palm of his hand and he slammed his eyes closed in order to steady himself. A cock of a gun brought himself back. His thoughts came to an abrupt stop. Blinking, he stared at the young boy in front of him. Tattered clothes stained with faint blood littered the body of the child and a small pistol was held in a trembling grip. Alex’s heart lurched and he felt as if the world would collapse under the realization of what he was seeing. Time slowed. His training was wiped clean like someone had erased his hard-drive._

_Alex didn’t dare raise his weapon. The hardened eyes of the child bore into his soul, tearing at his heart and making him question why war even existed. Tears streaked the young boy’s cheeks. The two of them had been exposed to violence at too young of an age. They were both products of war. He can’t kill children…he shouldn’t have to…children weren’t meant to be weapons of war._

** _BANG!_ **

* * *

It’s late when Michael shifts his truck into park. 

“Atta girl,” he smiles lightly, running a hand across the dashboard before removing the key from the ignition. Age hasn’t been kind to his beloved vehicle, but he refuses to get rid of Her. He’ll fix Her up like he always does. Landing solidly on the gravel, he kicks in the direction of a small rock, firing a tiny blast of telekinetic energy that sends the pebble rolling into the distance.

A chorus of barks reaches his ears. The sound nearly gives Michael a heart-attack. A dog that small should **NOT** have that loud of a bark. He bends down to pick up the Beagle that’s barreling towards him on stubby legs. “Hey Beta,” he greets, scratching the hound between her floppy ears and holding her close to his chest. It had taken a considerable amount of time for Beta to fully adjust to Michael’s presence. She had been extremely wary at first, sticking to Alex’s side and refusing to leave. Now, she’s comfortable with following Michael around the cabin and accompanying him outside from time-to-time. 

Confusion crosses Michael’s features. Alex would never leave her out for this long. Coyotes are common in this area and there's always the fear of Beta being snatched up by one of those mongrels. It’s a crisp evening and there’s a settling to guilt that has made a home in his gut. He’s broken yet another promise…but he’s positive that Alex won’t hold it against him (or so he hopes).

“So much for being on time for dinner.” He mutters. But he’s home and he’ll make it up to Alex (again). His mind runs through possibilities like a (cheesy) romantic candlelight dinner or maybe a week away somewhere in Washington. The two of them do deserve a vacation or at least a lengthy road trip to someplace nice.

A prickling sensation creeps up his spine, raising the small hairs on the back of his neck. Michael’s gaze narrows. Something’s wrong, his senses tell him. The porch’s floorboards creak under his weight and he fishes the door key out of his pocket. He gives a brief smirk at the little green alien keychain that dangles as he unlocks the door. The sight that meets his eyes upon stepping into the living room, jars him slightly.

Alex is seated in the armchair, his form completely still. The only sign of life is the way his chest slowly rises and falls. He’s unresponsive to how the door creaks as Michael steadily closes it behind him. After setting down Beta, he removes his black cowboy hat and hangs it on a coat peg. A weighted stone comes to settle in his gut, twisting his intestines into a tight and uncomfortable knot.

Michael strides forward towards Alex with a purposeful gait before slowly kneeling down in front of the soldier. The eyes that meet his are distant and blank, void of emotion and lacking a connection with reality.

Detached and unaware.

Swallowing, the alien exhales. “Alex?” He tries, his voice low and soft. “Hey.”

His lover’s expression fails to change. A mask of a terrifying blankness that he isn’t sure how to deal with. Kyle’s never given him a rundown on how to treat this type of state. Staring intently into those empty eyes searching for a sign of recognition, he bites back panic. A few strands of loose hair rest across Alex’s forehead.

Giving into the impulse, Michael reaches a hand out and with his fingers, he gently swipes away the bangs.

In a blink of an eye, his wrist is snatched in a blur of motion. Michael has to fight back the instinct to defend himself, to fling something across the room to the origin of the grasp. But he’s not being attacked. Alex seems to have snapped back into himself, with shocked wide brown eyes and a heaving chest. “Michael.”

“Yeah. Hi,” Guerin answers, “It’s only me, darlin’.”

The grip on his wrist releases and Michael feels a pang of guilt. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you.”

The Captain gives a faint shrug of his shoulders, obviously still feeling unsettled. His heart is racing and he can feel a panic attack rising to the surface of his consciousness. The edges of his vision have started to blur and his mind is refusing to settle.

A hesitant whispered question follows, “Can I touch you?”

Alex shakily nods and familiar hands come to cup his face. Michael’s forehead rests against his own and simultaneously, their eyes close. “Breathe with me,” Michael whispers. Focusing on the rhythm of inhales, he obeys; a comfortable pace is set and Alex finds his thoughts slowing in suit. The outside world is forgotten; all that matters now is their own space; this space Alex Manes shares with this extraterrestrial. It’s safe and it’s home. A battlefield doesn’t exist. There’s no gun in his hands and he’s not in the sands of Iraq, fighting a seemingly endless war.

A head butts against his left leg and a needy whimper ruins the moment. Their attentions are drawn to the Beagle that has taken a seat besides them with attentive eyes as if expecting something.

“Shit,” Alex says, his exhausted tone registering in Michael’s mind. “I haven’t fed her.” He moves to stand, but Guerin beats him to it, “I can take care of it.”

Just like that, the alien’s headed towards the kitchen, picking up the empty food bowl on his way. Beta follows with the sound of her nails tapping against the floorboards and her tail eagerly swaying. Out of the corner of his eye, Alex spots the bag of dog food floating to Michael’s open hand from the cabinet and he can’t resist the smile. The sound of kibble being poured into the bowl rings in his ears before silence takes over again. A bark sounds from Beta, a clear indication that this strange being taking a longer time to prepare her food than she would have appreciated.

“Hey!” Michael’s tone hardens slightly as he fixes the Beagle with a stern expression. “Sh. Shut it.” Beta sits with an apologetic whimper and the alien gives a small smile of triumph.

Alex faintly snorts, amused by the relationship that his boyfriend often has with his companion. Guerin returns to the living room, rubbing a hand over his face. “God, she’s so…needy, almost like Isobel when she wants attention. Determined and unyielding…and annoying.”

His eyes soften as they settle over the soldier and he extends a hand, which Alex accepts.

“You have bags under your eyes,” Michael states as they head to the bedroom together. “Have you been _really_ been sleeping?”

“We in bed at the same time and we fall asleep together.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t always mean you _actually_ sleep,” he pauses. “When I get up in the morning, your side of the bed is cold.”

“I still have work to do.”

“What’d you mean? There’s nothing left for you to do. You’re not traveling to find more…” Michael trails off as a memory resurfaces.

“Prisons.” Alex finishes for him. “No, I’m not. But there’s a lot of data at the Bunker that I’ve been sorting through and reading.”

Reaching the room, he flicks on a light switch and instantly the lamp on the bedside table comes to life. A king’s sized bed is propped up against the wall and two dressers opposite it. The closest rests in the far corner next to the entrance to the bathroom.

“Shower,” Alex grumbles as he enters. “You need a shower, you still smell like gasoline and car oil.”

“Only if you join me,” baits Michael with a raised eyebrow. “Maybe you’ll sleep better if I help. It’s worked before and I get to wake up next to you in the morning.”

The Captain opens his mouth to protest but is cut off by the look that’s scrolled across the alien’s pleading face. “It’s stress-relieving!” He throws his hands up with a laugh. “You were all up in my space this morning. You don’t want to admit it, but you _were_. Trust me, _Private_, I know.”

Well, Alex supposes he’s not getting out of this one. And Michael does have a point.

* * *

“Your hair is so flat after a shower and you need a haircut,” lips grace against his temple in to accentuate the unsaid words of ‘_and it’s cute_’. It draws a slight blush to Alex’s cheeks and he can feel heat rising to flush his skin. They’ve never been good with words. Communication rests in the words that aren’t spoken between them. Their movements say a lot more than tongues ever could. Sentences are exchanged by heavy glances and subtle touches; it’s the language they spoke fluently (perhaps even better than English).

Alex’s fingers run through Michael’s curls and he chuckles as the alien practically arches into the touch like a feline. A finger trails down the Airman’s chest, raising the hairs on the back of his neck as a shiver pulses through him. As the alien buries his face into Alex’s neck, one of his legs brushes up against the soldier’s stump. There’s a sudden stillness from the form he’s currently wrapped around like a freaking kola, but the tips of fingers are gently scratching his scalp in a pleasant massage that nearly makes him melt.

“You doing okay?” Michael asks, his voice lowered. “You seem to be deeply in thought.”

Nodding, Alex warmly smiles as his lover’s lips touch against his neck. “Yeah, I’ve just been thinking.” Then, there’s a yawn.

He can sense the slight irritation from the one in his arms and he swears that Michael rolls his eyes. He’s waiting for some snarky rebuttal, but what follows isn’t what he’s expecting. There’s a soft hum from the other before silence follows. “Sleep,” the alien whispers. “You can resume thinking tomorrow, babe.”

Alex raises his eyes slightly, finding his gaze fixed onto the wall and then steadily moving downwards to focus on the hill of Michael’s shoulder. It’s quiet and the soft puffs of breaths that come from the man in his arms, indicate that he’s drifted off, but the Captain is awake.

Exhaustion heavily sits in his spirit and his eyes are heavy. However, he’s restless; he’s always been too anxious to sleep. He remembers nights during deployment when he would linger between complete rest and wakefulness. Anxiety continues to keep him awake. He’s so attuned violence that if anyone charges into his cabin, Alex’s ready to tackle an intruder to the ground in a matter of seconds.

Closing his eyes and concentrating on the form nestled into his own, he takes note of how naturally warm the other is. Michael Guerin runs hot (and that’s a fact), and it’s almost like his own little personal heater. Lucky him.

He can feel every intake of breath that the alien takes, every rise and fall of his ribs indicate the successful cycle of oxygen. If he shifts his foot just slightly, he can feel the curled form of Beta, who usually sleeps with them (unless if she determines that they’re being too rowdy).

Slowly, he feels himself finally drifting. His reflexes tell him to hold onto consciousness, with worries repeating through his brain. Sleep has never been an easy aspect to gain in his life, not even when he was younger. His father had made the process harder, and Alex grew accustomed to the seemingly never-ending discomfort of his aching bruising limbs or wounds from the beatings he received as a child.

He’s home, with Michael in his arms and a dog at the edge of the bed. Nestling his head into the pillow, he lets go.

* * *

_“You’ve always been too soft,” sneered Jesse Manes as he planted the sole of his boot onto his youngest son’s ribcage. “You’re too much like you mother.” Alex had stopped his struggling; there’s nothing he could have done to escape this one, not with a boot on his chest, applying weight every time he breathed. _

_ “Dad, please.” Alex tried with his hands coming to grip around his father’s ankle. “Please.”_

_ He caught the sight of Flint peeking his head out of the doorway as if checking to hear what the sudden chaos was about. His eyes locked with his older brother’s, pleading for help- for relief. He held his breath with his head raised off the ground slightly. The look of astonishment was plastered on the second youngest brother’s face and he moved to take a step forward. He’s home from his deployment overseas and this wasn’t something he was expecting to see on the night of his return._

_The urge to intervene was reflected across his features along with the firm set of his jaw._

_ “Flint,” Jesse’s warning growled, making the man freeze. “What do you think you’re doing?”_

_ Flint swallowed as his eyes flicked from Alex to his father._

_ “Answer the question, son.”_

_ “Um,” his gaze focused on his younger brother before shooting him a brief apologetic glance. “I’m sorry. I’ll come back.”_

_ Flint’s retreating footsteps made a sob hitch in Alex’s throat as he released the breath he was holding. Letting his head rest against the floorboards, he stared his father straight in the eyes. Tears burned at the edges of his vision but he refused to let them fall._

_Manes men don’t show weakness._

_ “Can’t even pick up a gun,” Jesse continued, towering over his son. “Instead, you’ve chosen fucking music over what’s been in our family for years. Your limited vision has blinded you. Single-minded boy.”_

_ The pressure on his ribs grew and he swore under his breath. Tomorrow, he’d have to come up with a slew of excuses for how he obtained the bruises that would decorate his skin._

_The sound of a hammer smashing bone was enough to make his blood freeze in terror. Michael’s pained wails bounce off the bony area of his skull, making him feel nauseated. _

_ “DAD STOP,” he screamed, his throat feeling raw. “STOP!” Alex’s feet were carrying him now, swiftly across the room to where his father was raising the hammer for another blow to Michael’s disfigured bloody hand. Planting his hands on the raised shoulder of Jesse, he aimed to tear him away; to yank him off. Tightening his stomach, he gave a sharp pull, successfully catching his father slightly off balance. Just as Alex had been aiming for, a short distance had been created between the Master Sergeant and Michael and the attention of his abuser had shifted._

_The briefly lost equilibrium was regained and those cold pale blue eyes shifted in the direction of his son, who still held onto his shoulder that gripped the hammer before throwing the elbow into the boy’s face._

_ A crunch indicated a broken nose. Alex tasted blood as he reeled backwards. Michael slumped to the floor, clutching his mutilated hand as Jesse advanced on his son, with white-hot rage in his veins._

* * *

With a gasp, Alex jolts awake, his eyes fly open and he’s sitting up in an instant. With tense muscles and a rapid heart rate, the room around him swirls in reaction to his sudden movements. Michael’s unconsciousness is interrupted by fear and he starts up with panic. The lamp beside them turns on as he reaches out with his telekinesis to do the job for him. Resting on his elbows with the lower half of his spine still touching the mattress, his gaze lingers on Alex, who know has his head in his hands, breathing heavily. Sweat glistens on the man’s golden skin.

“Alex?”

The Captain raises his cranium, briefly glancing over his shoulder at his partner. “Sorry,” he says before hanging his head again so his palms can cover it, providing a small sense of stability. A panic attack bubbles at the surface, ready to spill over. “I should have slept on the couch.” Michael’s hand gently rests on his shoulder, smoothing the surface of the epidermis beneath with a thumb.

“The pills on the nightstand,” Alex manages, motioning with a hand towards the object.

The request makes the alien pause for a moment before nodding and extending a hand towards the bedside table. Focusing his thoughts on the orange pill bottle, it soon floats to him until he’s able to close his fingers around it.

“Thank you,” mutters Alex as he accepts the bottle that Michael hands to him, dumping out the proper amount of pills and downing them dry.

With shuddering fingers, he screws the lid on and handing to Guerin who slightly twists around to place the container back onto the night desk. The Captain watches him for a moment, focusing his eyes on the way the alien’s muscles shift as he moves, the light dancing off his tan skin. Burying his head in his hands, Alex deeply exhales as he closes his eyes.

“You know what?” Michael’s voice gently breaks the silence. The airman answers with a questionable hum.

“At least you didn’t fall off the bed this time.”

“But you always catch me.”

“Yeah, I do. You’re lucky I have excellent reflexes.”

Alex lowers his hands, glancing over his shoulder before Michael nuzzles into his neck, gracing his skin with a kiss and a whispered, “You’re okay.”

The cabin that Jim Valenti had left him has never really been his home. Alex has been searching for a place to belong after his own household failed him. Since his mother drove off without a second’s pause, Alex’s been lost. His friends served a purpose and provided him shelter when he needed it the most when his father’s harshness was too overwhelming. He doesn’t know why it’s taken him so long to strike across this realization, an understanding that he should have accepted years ago.

The simple understanding: Michael Guerin has **_always_** been his home.


End file.
